Of three workers and a desert(3)

December 23rd, 2016

– What the fuck?!Who done this? Joseph, Woyzeck, who did this?!
– Wouh, wouh, take it down a notch, that spirit was hard, Zi…shit, with apologies to language masters and elders, you got a black eye in your your drunken mug, Zigmund!
– I know, Woyzeck, woke up my face to the pole and this sun – you know how it tends to show your soul, so yeah, apparently mine has a dint of black in it.
– Wouldn‘t that be ironic.
– Iconic, my dear old sage, but don‘t drag me into your reflections of being, Woyzeck, was it you?
– Are you kidding?! You must be. As I remember you saying you see me through all the words and all.
– Guess words are too thick even for you. Joseph, you?
Jozef still slumbering the desert sands off.
– What..come…brother.
– Brother? Brother?! I‘ll give you brother alright!
Woyzeck gets a hold of angry and disoriented Zigmund, who, to all indications, wants to fuck the brother up.
– Stop this right now, you inconsiderate fool! Can‘t you see – black eye, black hole?!
– Well, tell the truth, I can‘t, not in a width I‘d like to.
– Somebody – or something – must have come this night and hit you.
– Like sneak on me, while I was…damn it…blacked out?
– Possible.
– Cheap move! And now I won‘t be able to get even, since – Joseph?! Wake the fuck up!
Jozef in a slow and low voice.
– Since no one the same comes through the hole two times.
– Bingo! Setting aside the riddley vibe in your phrasing. Nobody comes back from the hole.
– Just comes.
– Yes, captain obvious.
– And leaves…
– So, Jose, was it you?
– Again?! I know who was it. Or at least margins of what happened. And no, it wasn‘t me.
Jozef gently slaps his palm on his forehead.
– Tell us, then, quickly, you…
– Water.
– Water?! Are you out of your sandals? Now he‘s telling it was water.
– No, give me some water!
– You know we have none. Pass him the juice, will you, Woyzeck?
– Cactus incoming.
– So, you were saying…
– Somebody came out of the hole and you went to meet it.
Zigmund, startled into a who, me? expression, tries to spit, but nothing comes out.
– Yes, well, not exactly of your own desire. We had a bet. You said you could pretend to be me – the beard thing, and you still have my T-shirt on! – and ask it the simple question.
– You weren‘t dreaming – in fact, are you dreaming Joe?!
– I‘m telling you like it is.
– Was.
– You went to it – him, her – I couldn‘t make it out – and stood there for some time. I assume listening, though you never do, and then boom! , it hit you.
– So you say you don‘t know who it was? A girl, a man, fuck, maybe a kangaroo?!
– Yup, you got this nailed – it was a northern kangaroo.
– And that would be?
– A rabbit. A rabbit punched you in your stupid – albeit pretty – face.
– With a dick?
– Perfect timing, Ziggy, that‘s a verbatim of what I saw.
– Hear this, Woyzeck, now you tell me the kid is not dreaming? Nah, untill proven wrong, I‘ll hold one of you accountable for this masterpiece.
Zigmund tries to scratch – or caress – his black eye.
– Argh, hurts like a bitch.
– We all are dreaming. All the time.
– Says the sage.
– Can‘t be bothered with this anymore. It‘s just not worth it. Will go look for something.
– And that would be?
– Peace of soul, Ziggy. Son, want to join me?
– It‘s ok, papi, I‘ll lie some longer.
– Bastard.
– It was a black rabbit.
– Uh?
– It was a black rabbit that hit you, Zigmund.
– Racist bastard.
– Either that or you got beat up by a woman.
– I know it was you, you slimey piece of…
Zigmund tries to jump on a relaxing fellow worker, but feet get stuck in sand, which makes him fall right next to Jozef. Now both men lie in parallel – Jozef facing the empty sky, Zigmund black eye buried in sand. The small dot way across them is a man looking for peace of soul.

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